


Ripped

by Voido



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bruises, Implied S/M, Implied Violence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-20 13:59:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13148145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Voido/pseuds/Voido
Summary: When Ventus realizes that his secret is being found out, he panics. After building up a net of lies over years, he's scared of the consequences, and finds himself desperately trying to find a way to set things right.But with the crippling fear of ending up alone, he knows there's only so much he can take.





	Ripped

**Author's Note:**

> I...will admit that this turned out a bit differently than I wanted it to, but I think I'm still quite okay with the outcome.

In the split second Ventus caught his brother's eyes on him, mood shifting from delighted to alarmed in less than half a second, he knew his cover was blown. He had been trying so hard, spending lots of time on buying a few long-sleeved shirts that wouldn't look too suspicious on him, focusing on anything but the thought of being found out.

And yet, he had felt the soft breeze on his neck when his best friend Terra had shoved him a bit, quite playfully, and laughing loudly. Ventus had been laughing, too, up until then. But now, with this alarmed look turning into panic and lastly _anger_ , he knew he wasn't getting out of this without causing someone trouble. Maybe himself, maybe his family...or maybe the one person he wanted out of this entirely.

Roxas didn't say a single word, and in fact returned to smiling when Aqua offered him a small plate with cake on it. It was the twins' birthday, and their friends had decided to make a bigger fuzz out of it than necessary, like they always did.

But even so, with Roxas smiling cheerfully and going back to chatting with his friends, Ventus k new it was all but a façade.  When this party was over – and the anxiousness crawling up inside him was already sign enough that it would end  _way too early_ in any case – he'd be in trouble. Major trouble.

But being his brother – and thus, knowing how little Ventus would want to worry his friends, if there was even the slightest possibility that there was a different reasoning behind this than he thought – Roxas at least had the decency to wait it out until they were both on their way to the train station, both way less drunk than anyone else had been, and both for highly different reasons.

The fact that they didn't talk through half of the way was already proof enough that they would fight soon. Ventus hated fighting. Be it his brother, the rest of his family, his friends or even enemies. He despised the bad feelings accompanying fights. He was scared of the thought of ever losing someone he loved because of either of them losing their temper over something that could only be entirely irrelevant on the long run.

And m aybe, so he thought while sitting down at the station and watching some pigeons fight over a piece of bread, just  _maybe_ that was the exact reason why this fight was going to happen in the first place.

“Don't you think you've got something to tell me?”

The words came suddenly, and he wasn't prepared for the harshness in them. It wasn't a question.  _Of course_ it wasn't a question.  It was a demand.

But that didn't stop him from not giving an answer, deciding to try and pretend he hadn't hear d it, over the breeze he wished were louder, embracing them warmly. It was comfortable, not cold at all. A typical summer breeze close to the ocean.

“I'm talking to you, Ventus.”

He flinched, ever so slightly, at the  lack of being called  by his nickname . It was like a parent shouting for their kid's full name when they had done something  _really_ bad. And all things considered, Ventus probably deserved it. But that didn't make it hurt less.

This time, he looked up from the fighting birds, and reluctantly met his brother's eyes. He saw worry. The deep sorrow of not having seen what was happening – which was ironic, because he still didn't, not at all. The regret of not having helped, even though there was nothing he was supposed to help with.

But nothing was as present as the fiery anger, the sheer hatred pulsing in his  deep- blue eyes, screaming for revenge like a fire-spitting dragon. It was the kind of emotion Ventus had feared seeing the most, because unlike all the others, he knew that this one was not directed at him at all. 

There was nothing right he could say in this situation, and he was so scared of making it worse that he found himself mumbling, stuttering the words he hardly managed to form, knowing that this would do anything but help, fearing what would come next, and just longing for the warm perfection he had given up earlier to see his friends.

“You...you don't understand this, Roxas.”

The anger rose. It seemingly really  _was_ the worst thing he could have said.

“I'm going to kill him.”

He wanted to shake his head, but only found himself lowering it. He wanted to defend the person accused of hurting him, but only found himself sighing.

He wanted so badly to scream out the truth, but only found himself lying.

“It's none of your business!”

Because deep down, that was obviously preposterous; if him being hurt wasn't his brother's business, then who else's could it ever be?

Either way, him shouting way more loudly than he had intended to, caused the birds to flee, and the old lady next to them to leave and find another bench. Normally, Ventus would get up and apologize. This time though, he couldn't care less.

“You're deep down in an abusive relationship and you're telling me it's none of my business? You're my family, you shortsighted _idiot_! What's next? I find you bleeding out on the street and you tell me to _take it easy_ because it's a _-okay_?!”

Ventus hadn't dared interrupt the angry monologue,  ye t couldn't help but roll his eyes at it. He knew. He understood. It was wrong, and he should explain, but every reason he could give, any explanation he could dive into would just end up making everything so much more complicated for himself.

So he did what he always did when things like this happened – he hid, he lied, he kept up Roxas's fear of him being beat up daily by his abusive partner. It was wrong, so,  _so_ wrong, but he was too weak to admit his own faults and give in to the truth.

He got up from his seat, deciding to walk home alone. If there was one thing he didn't want or need tonight, it was those two meeting. Should he be scared of them beating each other up? No, correction: Should he be scared of his brother getting beat up, because that's what  c ould happen out of these possibilities? Maybe.

However, that was not what worried him.

What kept him going, ignoring the words directed at him, trying to outrun the fast footsteps following him, was the sheer panic of being forced to sit down next to both of them and explain himself. Because that, out of everything, was what he couldn't. He knew he wouldn't be able to share this, not with anyone but-.

“Stop!”

He was grabbed by the arm, rather harshly, and found himself flying around and slapping the hand away. He didn't want this. He didn't  _need_ this. Everything had been alright up until now, when no one had seen, no one had questioned. He was doing fine, wasn't he?

“Just leave me alone! Go home, live your life! You wouldn't understand this, and that's alright. I don't need you to baby me or decide how I should live my life! If it's either that or throwing you out of it, then you better get lost now!”

The words were out before he even understood what he was saying. He was throwing away the most profound bound he had ever had in life, one that no one without a twin could be able to understand. And he didn't throw it away because of his lover – he threw it away because of  _himself._

For the first time since their argument had started, he saw the anger vanish. It was a short, brief moment, and he could  ha ve sworn that he saw his brother tear up at the definitive words, at obviously having lost a part of his family, a part of himself.

But then, regaining his posture, Roxas answered.

“I get it. You do you. Just know this: The next time we meet, if I see any bruises on you...I will make sure he lands in jail.”

And with that, he turned on his heel and jogged back to the station, where the train was already arriving, leaving Ventus with his thoughts and fears and the anguish of knowing that he hadn't only just lost one piece of his heart, but he was getting closer to wasting the rest of it with every single move he made.

It was overwhelming, and he found himself unable to keep in the tears for even a second on his way home.

 

He did his best to be quiet upon entering the apartment, knowing that the trip home had taken him long enough that it was long past bed-time.

Flashing lights were keeping the living room slightly bright, and peeking into the room, he found the man he loved so much sprawled over the whole sofa, having fallen asleep while watching a pretty brutal-looking movie. But even so, with the blood splattering on the screen, the scenery was way too peaceful for Ventus not to find himself smiling, even though he knew what happened from now on would be entirely his fault.

Knowing that only so much as a touch would wake him up, Ventus decided to just sit on the armrest for a moment and enjo yed the peaceful face next to himself. Relaxed, eased. Probably dreamless sleep. How much he would have loved to just join, throw himself onto the sofa that was already too small for one person, but way too small for two, wake up in the morning with an aching neck, but knowing that there was someone right next to him who would give him a desperately needed massage and make everything okay again.

But how could he, knowing that he had done  _nothing_ to clear up the lies surrounding their relationship? That he had just given in to his brother's thought of being abused, hurt and kept a slave in his own apartment?

Sure, all things considered, he understood that anyone would come to this conclusion first. That he was afraid of leaving, scared of being forced back into this, but all of that was so entirely wrong, and he hated himself so much for being too weak to set things right.

He hadn't noticed that he was crying again, at least not until he felt the soft touch of a caressing hand on his cheek, and realized those amber eyes staring at him, wide awake and worried, with no sign of the man just having been asleep. Others might see it as the predator having spotted his prey, but all Ventus felt was the sensation of being important enough to shake off the sleepiness immediately. And it felt exhaustively good.

“What's wrong?”

If anything, Vanitas wasn't a man of many words. If this were about him being hurt, Ventus knew they would just sit in silence, close enough to grab onto each other, to know that whatever happened, they always had each other to seek comfort from.

But right now, it was about Ventus. And they both knew that he desperately needed to talk about his problems, or else they would swallow him up. It had always been that way, and he wished that he could think it would forever be, but how, if all he felt was the fear of losing Vanitas in the outcome of the problems he had just started?

So i nstead of answering, Ventus got up from the armrest and unzipped his thin jacket. He wouldn't have to hide his bruises here, because this was his comfort zone. This was home.

Looking down on himself now, he realized that he had indeed been plain obvious, and the fact that no one else had batted an eye at his choice of wardrobe was just another sign of how well his brother knew him. Maybe he had actually been expecting something and paid extra attention. Maybe just openly showing the bruises on his neck and arms, making up a lie for why they existed, would have been so much easier, so much more believable than hiding them. Because hiding meant fear. And fear surely wouldn't make anyone believe that he was happy.

But it was too late for that kind of regret now, so he just threw the jacket in the direction of the armchair, not even looking if it landed there or on the floor. He wanted to get out of this – of these clothes hiding up who he was and what he felt, but before he could even reach for his shirt's seam, he was stopped in his tracks by a pair of hands  softly reaching for his. It made him chuckle  bitterly , because it was the opposite of what anyone who saw  the deep-violet stains on his skin would believe to be true.

“So I suppose someone saw?”

There was no malice in the words, just curiosity and concern, so he found himself looking up to his slightly taller lover and just nodded. Vanitas could have said a lot of things now. Something like  _“I told you someone will find out” -_ because he had; or -  _“You should have expected this day to come”_ \- because he really should have.

But all he did was pull Ventus into the warming embrace he had longed for all evening, not blaming him even for a single second that he obviously hadn't been able to tell the truth to anyone. They stood there for what felt like a soothing eternity, with nothing on their minds but each other, but with the guilt piling up even further in Ventus's mind and heart, causing him to tremble, shake, and bury his face into Vanitas's shoulder, begging for him not to let go.

And he didn't.

 

After what had felt like forever, they had agreed to sleep over  everything and talk about it in the morning. That alone was bound to fail from the get-go, because all the mental pain left Ventus unable to sleep, and in the end they just lay there for hours, cuddled up, with Vanitas urging him to talk about irrelevant things to clear his mind from the problems just for a while.

It helped  for a while – of course it  did , because no one knew Ventus the way that Vanitas did, and no one would ever be understand him like that. Because no one would want to try.

Yet,  “I hate myself,” was the first thing he heard himself say after going dead silent from talking about the good parts of the birthday party. His voice was weak, but determined and serious, and if he didn't know that he was the only one to blame for this, he'd probably pity himself. But he was to blame. He was a coward, afraid to admit who he was, unwillingly appreciating the fact that no one would be mad or disappointed in him, because they didn't understand anything.

“Don't say that.”

“It's my fault they hate you.”

“Bullshit. Besides, you know I don't give a flying fuck about what they think about me.”

It was always the same kind of argument. In all fairness, maybe it wasn't  _entirely_ Ventus's fault. Vanitas wasn't the person to go out and meet people, so no one really knew what to make of him. No one really dared questioning that attitude either, probably because they were scared of the possibility of making Ventus unhappy with it. So they accepted his choice of a partner, and let him live his own life.

Well, they had until now.

But for Roxas – and anyone he would tell about this, which he would, because he was scared – the puzzle pieces would fall in line now, and exactly in the wrong one.

“You know what I mean,” Ventus continued then. “I could have just ended this façade by telling the truth. It was the perfect opportunity.”

However, Vanitas just passionately rolled his eyes at him and dramatically raised his voice. It sounded comically, but maybe he was just trying to cover up how mad he was. All things considered, that was the most plausible possibility.

“Yes, of _course._ How about _'Yeah, I'm getting beat up every day until I beg for mercy'_?”

“Vanitas, please. Wouldn't it be the other way around?”

It was a dumb response, and Ventus felt bad the second he said it. But it was also true, and he was sick of lying,  especially when it was only the two of them.

“Alright, then how about saying _'You got this wrong. I totally enjoy getting whipped until I bleed_? Sounds like a fucking winner, doesn't it?”

“Could you stop pretending this is a joke?”

“If you stopped pretending it was oh-so-easy.”

His voice was still calm,  but his furrowed eyebrows made it quite obvious that he  _was_ indeed mad.

“My point, Ventus, is that I think your friends are idiots.”

“Now that's news.”

And there it was. The hostility he didn't want to feel, but forced himself to dive into in order to shield himself from the guilt. He didn't want to think about this, he didn't want to find a way to set things right. But if he didn't, Roxas wouldn't be the last person he'd lose, and the thought ate him up inside.

“I know it isn't, and you know how I mean it. Why do you think you owe them an explanation?”

“Because they're my friends.”

The answer came naturally. He was lying again. He despised himself so much that it hurt. And Vanitas knew, because he grabbed him more tightly, stroking his hair softly.

“Well, then why are you scared of telling them?”

“They wouldn't understand!”

It was so painfully visible how much he held the words  _great friends you have_ back, but Ventus felt them anyway, and it hurt so much because it was  _so true_ .  They loved him, sure, but maybe just a little too much so. They wouldn't  _want_ to believe it.

Whatever he did, wherever he found himself going, it was never without people pretending he needed their help. Because to them, he was that shiny perfect golden boy he had always been since he could remember. Good grades, amazing attitude, promising future. It had all been perfect.

And then, when he had finally found out that the only person who really understood him was Vanitas, when they had become as close as they were now, that perfection had started to crumble. Because as naive as people thought Ventus was, he wasn't an idiot. He knew that even if they accepted his choices, they didn't approve of them. And they still thought they knew better.

So what would they possibly do if they knew about this? If they found out that the bruises on his arms, his neck, and wherever else they were still visible, were nothing he was scared of? What if they found out that their perfect boy didn't  always indulge in sweet kisses and tender hugs, but instead  occasionally  enjoyed begging for  a pain that felt so good?

Closing his eyes, he decided to accept the truth. It wasn't about them not understanding, at least not anymore. Even though he had been telling himself that, it had only been another layer of guard to deny what was so evidently right in front of him.

He wasn't scared of them understanding. He was scared of them  _leaving_ once they did.  He was especially scared of Vanitas leaving him as soon as anyone accused him of abusing this  _perfect little angel_ lying right next to him. Because Ventus knew that even then, he would be too weak to tell the truth, that he was the one who wanted it the most. That everything about them was consensual, and a sort of pleasure he could never explain.

I t was so much more than he could  ever  handle.

“I'm scared of being alone.”

 

Days passed without either of them bringing the topic back up. However, things weren't all good like Ventus wanted them to be, and of course he hadn't expected that to happen. Since his outburst at the train station, Roxas hadn't talked to him at all. On one hand, that was obvious, since Ventus had made it very clear that he didn't want anyone questioning his choices in his life. 

On the other, it made him wonder if it was really worth it, because they had used to talk to each other at least every other day. The loss made him feel lonely, and the worst part was how obvious he was about it.

At first, he had just called in sick at work for a few days. That was alright, since he never stayed home normally, even if he really  _was_ sick. In fact, his boss had laughed it off saying  _“'Good, good. I'm glad I don't have to send you home anymore. Get well soon'_ , which already said a lot about how serious Ventus took these things. Another person who saw him as  _perfect._ Disgusting.

However, today was highly different, as it was Sunday. And Sundays meant that Vanitas would get home late in the night, giving Ventus way too much time to  linger over the past week and how much he wanted to go back and set things right.

He found himself staring at his phone motionlessly for half an eternity, just short from texting either Roxas – telling him how sorry he was and promising that he would explain everything the next time they met – or Vanitas – begging him to come home early so he could cuddle up next to him, embrace this love that he didn't think he deserved and forget about all the pain he had ever caused anyone else.

With Vanitas, it was obvious why he didn't do it. Because knowing him, he would indeed drop everything and come home, entirely indifferent about the consequences. Because it was Ventus, and he'd do everything for him, no matter if he said it out loud or not.

With Roxas, however, things were different. There was no real reason not to gather courage and offer an apology. Well, other than being scared of losing him entirely in the process.

So why was it that instead of grabbing the phone tighter, typing the words he desperately needed to get off his heart, he found himself dropping the phone onto the small table next to the sofa, burying himself in the blankets and wishing for time to just stop until he came up with a solution? Why was it so hard to accept himself and openly admit to others that he was alright?

Maybe, he thought, because it wasn't supposed to be alright. Being covered in stains was something that people didn't normally expect to be desirable. So what  _would_ he say, indeed? Vanitas's suggestions had been cynic at best, but there was a certain truth to them that Ventus couldn't deny.

Looking for an answer, he let his view slide through the living room, scanning all the memories it held in pictures, presents and belongings, reminding him of just how much he wanted all of this to be easier.

He found himself stopping when his eyes landed on a picture on top of the chimney. It showed one of the rare occasions of Vanitas joining in on his birthday party, and even cracking the smallest possible smile, even though it was halfway hidden in Ventus's hair.

And that was the moment it hit him like a brick. All this time, he had been looking for a reason to explain himself. For a reason to tell his friends the truth, even though he was embarrassed by the thought of letting anyone but Vanitas know about it. For a reason to tell them even though he knew they loved them either way.

It had taken him long, far too long, but when he got up from the sofa and made his way over to the chimney, taking the picture in his hands, absently running over it with his fingers, he understood the error  of his ways.

Because right now, when he realized just how many times Vanitas went out of his way just to make Ventus happy, he finally understood.

It wasn't about him.

It was about  _them._

 

_ I'm lucky _ , Ventus thought late that night, taking up most of the space on the sofa, right in between the two people he loved the most. All out of sudden, facing his own shadows had become easier, when he had understood that he didn't have to do it for himself.

Roxas had been sceptical, to say the least. First at the shy invitation to come over and talk things out, and again when Vanitas had come home, throwing a glance into the living room, moving on to take a shower, but stepping back for a second and frowning at both of them. Ventus had been grinning like a happy dolphin, so he had just grinned back, even if his had been a lot smaller, and continued on his way.

But after having sat together for a while, with Ventus taking up most of the dialogue, Roxas had come to realize that he wasn't being lied to. Everything was alright, and he was finally starting to believe it.

Most importantly,  he hadn't told anyone about what he had seen –  _ yet _ , as he had explained himself, quite obviously caught off guard by the fact that Ventus had expected him to do that right away.

But really, this was the best possible outcome. Instead of urging him to explain the truth to anyone else, they had somehow managed to fall back into their old teenager behavior that Ventus had almost forgotten about. Back then, they had done everything to make sure the other was alright, even if it meant taking each others tests in subjects the other wasn't good at, or make the weirdest plans to keep secrets from the rest of their friends.

So even though he was a bit surprised by the offer, it had actually been obvious that Roxas would be the first one to have his back and say: “You know, if anyone ever  _ does _ ask, we could say we had a fierce paintball match.”

“That's pretty great,” Vanitas answered instead of Ventus, smirking gleefully. “No one will bat an eye at Ventus letting his beloved brother win and being unable to shoot painful bullets at him. No questions asked, I guarantee that.”

No matter how obviously he was mocking both of them, it was also true. It still made Ventus blush just a little, because he hadn't expected to ever tell anyone about this small extra detail their relationship held, and now they were here, humorously making plans on how to make sure he could  _ have _ this secret without losing the people he loved.

Any other day, it might have felt weird. Immodest, naughty and abnormal, probably. But right now, knowing that, whatever happened, he would always have these two to have his back, everything seemed easier than he had ever imagined it could.

_ I'm  lucky _ , he concluded  again ,  hours later, finding himself drift into peaceful sleep on Vanitas's shoulder, knowing that he would wake up in  their bed,  tenderly covered by soft blankets , loved, guarded and protected in ways that none of his lies could have ever given to him.

_ I'm happy. _


End file.
